Never satisfied

The 10 km road race on Sunday was tough. I'd set myself the target of finishing in under 45 minutes. In my impatient mind, that would represent a return to the base level of fitness I had before my illness. To give me an added incentive, I would be running for MacMillan Cancer Support.



Sometimes I forget what I've been through this year. Life is short and I'm eager to pick up where I left off, but you occasionally get a reminder that you need to pace yourself. 

I set off ludicrously fast.

I knew the course had about 3 miles of net downhill, before steadily climbing back up. A negative split would be perfect. I ran my first mile in 6:37 and my second in 6:48. I had absolutely no business being among the top 50 runners and, after a 7:14 third mile, I continued to fade. 

I should have been satisfied with my sub 45 target and planned accordingly. The problem is, runners start getting crazy ideas in their heads when races are involved. Or maybe it's just me. Maybe, just maybe, I could surprise everyone (including myself) and push for a PB (currently 40:40)? If I could just hang on to the coat tails of the 40 minute pacer. What if I could push on and go sub 40? 

Madness.

I got a heavy dose of reality at mile 4. The 40 minute pacer had blitzed past me. He became a mocking figure on the horizon, the flag on his back bobbing in the distance as it slipped further away. As we started to climb, we were hit with a wall of wind. I ran mile 4 at 7:43 and mile 5 at 7:40. I started to look over my shoulder for the 45 minute pacer. By the final mile, I was hanging on for dear life.

The good news is that I didn't even think about my broken toe. I was too busy trying not to throw up from the exertion. I managed to pick up the pace for the final mile (7:22) and crossed the line at 43:58. My family and loved ones were staggered along the last quarter of a mile or so,  cheering me on. They provided a much needed boost as I came home in 157th place out of 1048 runners.

These are just numbers. Slow to some, fast to others, fairly mediocre in my own mind. But they represent something more. They represent being back out there, pushing myself, seeing what I'm capable of and giving me targets to aim my sights at next year. This was my 8th race of 2025. In February, I literally felt like I was on my death bed. I would never have dreamed I'd be capable of this, six months after my last course of chemotherapy. And I'm still not satisfied. Runners, even mediocre ones, never are.    






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